When better isn't just 'not worse'
by Be3
Summary: After they Rescued the Wildlife, Sherlock got himself a personal fish and named it John... or so everybody thought. Drabble series of a kidfic!AU set after the first chapter of 'And everybody home for tea'.


**Warnings**: seriously impossible science?..  
**A/N**: **a series of drabbles** **about superfish!John, brave!11-yr-old!Sherlock, humane!Mycroft**... Partly inspired by the confrontation between M and Sh in s3ep1 (the one concerning goldfish). I wouldn't be writing this if I haven't read 'Blindsight' by P. Watts (it's cruel, honest, clever, humane... oh I just don't know what not to love about it) and 'Harry Potter and Methods of Rationality' (absolutely amazing, 101 chapters and still going). I know this story isn't ever going to be as awesome as those two, but... well, I'm still posting it. 

A few months after they Rescued Wildlife, Sherlock announced he was going to get himself a pet fish. It would live in luxury and be happy.

And Sherlock set to creating the luxury part with his own two hands.

('If you cut it like this, there'll be no Americas.'

Sherlock didn't answer. His scissors followed the dotted line very carefully. The painted cheesecloth was stretched over stiff paper, to make it easier to handle, because Mycroft didn't want anything to do with the Long John Gold. Let the kid sweat over his own project.

'And don't put him on my window,' Mycroft added as an afterthought.  
Sherlock looked up, offended.  
'But he will need sunlight!'  
Visions of experiments on fish intelligence flowed through the elder Holmes's head, and he shook it.  
'Buy a lamp.'  
'Mike!'  
'You can't rely only on sun in winter,' Mycroft pointed out. 'No light, no oxygen.'  
Sherlock frowned and checked if the green stuff in the jar was arranged just so.  
'Feed him regularly,' Mycroft went on. 'Don't forget to change his water. Don't let the cat near him. Don't bring him to shool to boast. Don't read to him out of my French books.'  
'But you said I can take them. Y'think it will impair his development?'  
'Absolutely.'  
'Okay. Will he live to eighty?'  
'Hours?.. And don't glue this on. It's not even Gondwana.'  
'No,' agreed Sherlock with tranquility. 'It's Atlantis.')

And so it was decided.

A week before John's ETA Mommy summoned Sherlock and they had a long talk about responsibility and why he couldn't buy a titanium reinforced fish tank. Sherlock didn't promise anything.  
The next day, Mycroft had to go to another town to collect Sherlock from a supplies store - apparently, The Kid forgot he'd need money to come back.  
The next day, Sherlock rearranged Mycroft's furniture 'to create the ideal microclimate' instead of going to school.  
The next day, Mycroft woke two hours earlier than he'd planned to, because Mommy came to ask _him_ to mop up the water in the kitchen, because she couldn't find Sherlock, because Sherlock was out buying a filter that worked.  
The next day, Mommy went to school, too, and sat beside Sherlock during lessons, and he called on her to support his claims about the superiority of Living Worms Cultured In The Sink before any commercial foodstuff for aquatic animals.  
The next day, Mommy 'overslept', and Mycroft 'had a sore throat', and they blessed Sherlock's trip to the Natural Museum and had a wonderful quiet lunch and told each other sentimental things over their coffee.  
The next day, Sherlock, morose and snappish, said he signed a deal with the Devil that basically required him to become a doctor. Or a lab technician. John was worth it.  
And then came The Day, and Mycroft saw...  
...definitely not a goldfish.  
It was the ordinary fishy colour, with great misshapen lips and bulbous (_venomous,_ said his brain) eyes, and a tail that looked like a drop of red dye that had just fallen into water. It had weird swellings on the sides of its head.  
And it was huge. For a fish.  
And it looked back, completely in control of itself.  
'Hello?'  
'Hi, Mycroft,' Sherlock said on John's behalf.  
'Welcome?' said Mommy, hiding behind's Mycroft's back.  
'Afternoon, Madam.'  
'I'll go put the kettle on,' said Mommy hurriedly. Both her sons looked at her in horror. 'I mean, to, to... escape from here. Not to, um, boil you or anything.'  
'Good idea,' Mycroft muttered. He squared his shoulders and waved Sherlock in.  
The fish allowed Sherlock to put it into its new Atlantis home. It was satisfied with the temperature and the light and accepted its first portion of Organic Worms.  
'I hope you're happy,' Mycroft said drily.  
Sherlock looked down. 'Sure,' he said.  
'I mean, it's here at last, isn't it?'  
'Not 'it', 'he'. And his name is John.'  
'Fine. John's here. What now?'  
'Aren't you going to ask where I got him?'  
..._what?_.. asked Mycroft's brain.  
'_Sherlock_.'  
The Kid raised his head, and Mycroft saw heartbreak and determination, like when Grandpa was admitted for the surgery. He swallowed.  
'I saved him... from a lab in Barts.'  
_'Sherlock._'  
'Relax,' said Sherlock, eyes too bright but voice steady. 'It's not contagious.'  
'I'm sorry,' Mycroft said.  
'I'm not giving up on him,' said Sherlock softly. 'You'll see, he's going to kick ass. I promise.'  
Mycroft glanced at the ugly thing exploring the plantlife in its - his - new world, and told his brain they were going to help, or else.


End file.
